


Will You?

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Ichabbie Valentines, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Ichabod surprises Abbie with Valentine's traditions. Just fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any typos. I wrote this one handed whilst my 7 week old son amused himself by attempting to eat various areas of my t-shirt.

It started on the Monday of Valentine’s Week.

Crane had been searching “the interwebs” for weeks, before leaving on a artefact collection trip across the country with Jenny. 

Since he’d learned to use Incognito on Chrome, Abbie didn’t see any of his search history pop up. She had assumed that he’d just been playing about with the Incognito function for fun.

On Monday, his first day away, Abbie came home to find a beautifully carved wooden spoon on the counter, a Celtic knot on the top and two entwined hearts on the stem. It was the perfect size to fit in her pocket. The note, attached with a red ribbon, read: “ As early as the 17th century, Welsh men traditionally carved wooden spoons as a token of affection for the women they loved.” It was _so_ Crane.

On Tuesday she found a small dictaphone on the counter by a red rose. Pressing play, she was treated to a recording of Crane reading _She Walks in Beauty_ by Lord Byron:

 _She walks in beauty, like the night_  
 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_  
 _And all that's best of dark and bright_  
 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes:_  
 _Thus mellowed to that tender light_  
 _Which heaven to gaudy day denies._  
  
 _One shade the more, one ray the less,_  
 _Had half impaired the nameless grace_  
 _Which waves in every raven tress,_  
 _Or softly lightens o'er her face;_  
 _Where thoughts serenely sweet express_  
 _How pure, how dear their dwelling place._  
  
 _And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,_  
 _So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_  
 _The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_  
 _But tell of days in goodness spent,_  
 _A mind at peace with all below,_  
 _A heart whose love is innocent!_

And a note that read: “Italians celebrate Valentine’s Day by reading poetry to one another.”

On Wednesday a cherry blossom Bonsai tree awaited her. The note read, in Crane’s neat, looping masculine hand: “In the Czech republic a cherry blossom tree is mooted to bring luck for the coming year.”

Thursday was Valentine’s Day itself, and the day Crane was due back from his trip. She’d been missing him like crazy, sleeping with one of his shirts (although she would only have admitted that under torture, and maybe not even then). She missed his lanky frame around the house. She missed his cursing during online video games against his nemesis, HaloIsMyBitch. And she missed the warmth of his arms around her, the spark in his blue eyes just before he yanked her into a hard, fiery kiss.

She had also been doing some Googling of her own.

On Thursday evening a note was pinned to the door, which read: “In Bulgaria, couples celebrate by sharing a bottle of wine. You will find me in our garden.”

Smiling, Abbie rounded the house and crossed through the wooden gate into their garden. Crane sat at the outdoor table, his shirt open at the neck, jaw-length hair in pleasing disarray, a bottle of wine open before him with two glasses.

“Lieutenant.”

She stopped very close to him, looking down into his face, so familliar now, and yet so... loved.

“You were busy.”

He smiled and inclined his head slightly. “I had some assistance from Master Corbin. He has a key to our home.”

“I noticed.” Unable to help herself, she reached out and stroked a hand through his tumble of golden hair. “It was quite an education, learning about Valentine’s traditions. But.”

“But...? You were not pleased?”

“Crane. It’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He raised a brow. “And yet...?”

“There’s one you missed.”She drew the band of gold from her pocket, warm from her body heat, and offered it to him, palm up. The sun caught on the smooth metal, beautiful in its simplicity. “In Irish folklore, women can propose to men on a leap year. I know it’s not the 29th yet, but....” Uncomfortable, she looked down at the ring of precious metal, then her gaze settled back on his face. “So.. will you?”

It wasn’t hearts and flowers, she thought, annoyed at herself, but she was a straight shooting sort of gal.

Crane rose to a standing position and cupped her open hand with both of his. “My dear Lieutenant. Nothing in this world or any other would please me more.”

She put the ring on his finger and then he danced her around the garden in dizzying, laughing circles, until the sunset bled into the sky and the cicadas sang their evening song.


End file.
